Balance
by decloved
Summary: Watching Enjolras made him feel terrible and was comforting at the same time. Could be read as slash, could be read as gen. Depends on your mindset.


I don't own Les Miserables, or the characters appearing in the story

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Grantaire rubbed his temple. Waking up after consuming considerable amount of alcohol the previous night was not the most pleasant experience. Less so for him than for many others, as he had managed to get used to it. He looked around his room, pain in his head throbbing unbearably. What he saw didn't help his headache at all. He didn't remember leaving such mess yesterday. But then, he hardly remember anything from yesterday. There were dozens of paintbrushes littering the floor - some broken, some still intact. A very damaged book lied pitifully on a table stained with colorful paint, pages torn from it were scattered on the floor similarly to the brushes.

Lying in the corner was a torn in half piece of canvas, a shattered wooden frame leaning on the wall beside it. That piqued his interest. With difficulty he staggered towards it. Picking up the material, he groaned. It was a painting, or at least it was before he destroyed it, and if he were a little less modest, he would say it was a very well done painting. It would probably sell for some money he could have spent on some wine and some more wine. He must have painted it and destroyed under influence of alcohol, since he had no recollection of it whatsoever.

It depicted a tall, lean figure lit by dim moonlight. Night sky filled with stars in the background. A simple image, but made so skillfully it seemed like the most elaborate of compositions. It seemed to hold so much feeling in it, Grantaire was very surprised that his drunken self could produce something like that. And wondering what possessed his drunk self to actually destroy the first piece of art he had produced in over a year. And to make such a mess. Well, he wouldn't cry over spilt milk.

For a while he wondered whether he should start cleaning up, but decided that he was in too much pain, both physically and mentally. And it was that sort of pain that was caused by alcohol and could only be cured by it.

With much more ease than a minute before he walked out of his flat and directed his footsteps towards a place where he could get drunk. Fresh air already diminishing his headache, but doing little to ease the other sort of pain he felt. Not unexpectedly his feet led him to café Musain. Off all the places he could go just to get drunk, he always chose this one. If asked why, he would probably attribute it to the excellent wine and equally excellent company. It was off course true. At least partly. But many places in Paris served wines that tasted divinely, and he wasn't picky about with whom he drunk. There was another reason, one he was unlikely to admit, even though it wasn't exactly a secret. One thing distinguished Musain from any other place he could choose to drink himself into stupor in. And that thing was presence of a man. And that man was Enjolras.

Enjolras was everything he could never be. Everything he longed for, and everything he considered perfect. Grantaire often wondered what was it that drew him to Enjolras so much. Was it a classic case of opposites attracting? If so then the attraction was very one-sided. Enjolras never really paid any attention to him, even negative one. He hardly ever bothered to spare him a glance, and when he did there was that unsettling mix of pity and disdain in his eyes. Grantaire couldn't tell whether that look was more painful than the complete lack of attention he was usually given.

Being in the presence of Enjolras was hurtful in more ways than one. Watching pure and beautiful Enjolras, full of dedication and belief, made him acutely aware of his own flaws and shortcomings. Yet, he couldn't avert his eyes. He was unable to live without the light that was Enjolras. Enjolras, who was much more addictive than absinthe could ever be. Grantaire had never been good at resisting temptations so he just as he couldn't quit drinking, he couldn't quit coming to Musain.

All of his friends already there, greeted him with warm smiles on their faces. He grinned backed at them, sitting on a chair they pulled out for him. He barely managed to sit down before a bottle of wine appeared before him. Alcohol in front of him, jokes and games surrounding him. That was his idea of good time.

But whenever Enjolras started speaking everyone stopped joking and drinking. All the eyes in the room were fixed on him and he had everyone's attention, including Grantaire's. This time was no different. Enjolras spoke, and the whole room listened, solely focused on him.

Grantaire couldn't help smiling. Seeing the other man, while reminding him of his own imperfections, also reassured him, that there was balance in the universe. For every vice he had, Enjolras had a virtue. Everything Grantaire lacked, Enjolras had in abundance.

Enjolras, as always was one of the last to leave the café. He bid goodbye to everyone present and walked out. Grantaire in a burst of alcohol induced courage followed him and when they were both outside he called.

'Enjolras!'

The other man turned and asked, 'Yes?'

Grantaire panicked for a second. He had no idea what to say.

'Yes?' Enjolras repeated.

'I just wanted to wish you a good night.'

Enjolras sighed, his expression unreadable in the darkness.

'Good night to you too, Grantaire.' he said quietly.

Grantaire watched his friend disappear in the darkness of the night. His lean silhouette gracefully illuminated by the moonlight.

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A/N I'm still getting to know the characters, so it's probably kind of OOC.

Also, I treat writing in English as a way of improving my fluency in the language, so I'll be very grateful if you inform me about any grammatical mistakes.


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